


Up for a Challenge?

by BeenThere_DoneThat



Category: Dying Light (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Bozak's a little shit, Cranes bitch ass is gonna get bit again, Cranes gonna become a major hoe, Gay Sex, Gore, Hey guys it's me again!, I beat the Fuck out of Bozak Horde, I know I did great, I need to stop tagging, I think I did great, I'm Sorry, It's gonna git gud, M/M, Sorry Not Sorry, The Bozak Horde, The Bozak Horde (Dying Light), You played yourself, actually, but he's an edgy/funny little shit, but like in a good slutty kind of way, congrats, jk, just warning you, prob'ly cause I'm a loser, so now everyone can just totally go and eat my ass, sorry my finger slipped, still haven't completed it tho, update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 02:13:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7666369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeenThere_DoneThat/pseuds/BeenThere_DoneThat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kind of my own take on Bozak and The Bozak Horde where Crane completed every poster challenge in Old Town and is contacted by 'Bozak'. They duel, Crane kills him and is left confused, expecting more from said man. Only to later awake inside the Harran Games Arena, where he uncovers who the real Bozak is and that all the posters were merely a test to see who could complete Bozak's 20 challenges known as The Bozak Horde. Sexy times will definitely ensue. >;}</p><p>Update: I might actually try putting out another chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up for a Challenge?

**Author's Note:**

> Also I'm posting this first part at like 3:55 a.m. I have probs I know. Idk if anybody even ships this shit but I sure as hell do. It's like my major otp. Just because of Bozak's deep panty wetting voice. I'm sorry. Also, all grammar check by me... So pretty much it's probably sorta aight. Now pls enjoy.

Kyle Crane had been dead set on totally obliterating every poster challenge issued by this 'Bozak' guy. He had, as of now, just completed the very last one. He was heaving in lungfuls of ragged, deep breaths and sprawled out on the blood caked floor after just climbing up the wall to the closest safe house and quite frankly the biggest. The fear and anxiety he had just experienced by finally gathering the handfuls of courage needed for such a challenge was horrifying. The only thing he can say was that he wasn't prepared for that one.

Bozak had issued a challenge to brutally embed the shrapnel of a shotgun shell deep into the gory flesh of volitials, ten of them to be exact, at the dead of night. 'Sure, it's easy for the great Kyle Crane!' you might think and 'Oh, the volitials just flock to you in the night!' well, truth be told, it's not that easy at all. After killing about seven or so they just fucking disappear into thin air and then the real shit comes out. They're practically the same thing just bulkier, faster, and definitely more freakish looking. After they come and find you, you actually have to run about and hunt for the weaker volitials while being chased by their upgraded individuals along with the zombies who become virals in a span of three seconds. He almost couldn't handle it and just about finished himself by almost passing out about two times.

That was only about two quick minutes ago and Crane was thankfully not dead. He was lying flat on his back gazing tiredly at the starry night sky, beautiful and cloudless, stretching far beyond the horizon in an endless sea of bright twinkling specs of faded blues, reds, and yellows. God, he was just grateful he was able to continue to see them. He hadn't gone through some stressful things such as that in a while. The majority of Bozak's challenges were, for the most part, easy. This one though wasn't on his 'favorites' list but hey, he got it done anyway, and now he just wants to lay here and enjoy the night sky. Is that too hard to ask?

Apparently it was because just as soon as the last few seconds of relaxation hit him, so did the static of the radio. With a sigh, Crane continued to stare at the sprinkled lights across the horizon as the familiar voice came to him through the distorted sound of the radios speaker. "That was the last test, well done." The voice started, "Very well done." He finished expecting the other to then reply back.

He lifted the radio to his mouth with a sigh, "Right, what now?" Crane wondered.

The voice replied instantly and probably a little too enthusiastically. "Now, you will meet Bozak! Find me on the highest tower in Old Town."

The other finished the conversation with continued static on the other line of the signal as Crane let the button loose to allow the silence to fill his ears again before standing. He made his way to the door across the balcony of the massive safe house, most likely to have been some kind of hooka bar or Harrans version of a clubhouse, to tiredly walk in and shut the door quietly behind him. The purest of silence now fully registering.

When he was outside he at least had the small relaxing sounds of the crickets and the easy breeze, the smell of rot and decaying flesh only slightly ruining it, by now it's just a passing second hand smell he's almost gone nose blind to. The monotone sound of the house was only a pinch comforting, he always expected to hear something, wether it be good or bad, it didn't matter. All he cared about was relaxing his overworked muscles as he flopped down upon the nearest couch and dozed off into another dreamless state of mind known as sleep.

  
—

  
Eyes drifting open to the dimly lit room he'd fallen asleep in, still stained in dry blood, now turning more of a rust brown now. He stretched his, only barely, refreshed muscles to stand and give a longing yawn, his body telling him he probably needs a few more hours of sleep but not knowing it's not going to happen until later the following night.

He spared a glance down to the blocky numbers of his watch reading 7:46, giving an accepting nod to said time before rolling and swinging his shoulders in small circles. Doing a series of quick, short stretches to even out and ready himself. Even though he's so limber now he doesn't even need to do it before getting ready for his morning run to get to whatever destination he has set.

Setting his eyes on the door he proceeded onto the balcony, climbing the neighboring wall to the peak of said building to skim across the other rooftops and towers in search of the one Bozak had been told to meet him at last night. _'Hmm, the highest tower says Bozak'_ Crane thought, internally mocking the man before his eyes landed on the two tallest buildings in Old Town. _'Must be those'_ he confirmed eyeing the two before clearing his throat and sighing, "Let's go."

  
—

  
Crane grappled, climbed, and sprinted his way atop the rooftops slaying any stray zombies he came across. By the time he reached the base of the the twin towers he knew it had to have only taken thirty minutes at the longest and his eyes traveled up the length of the tower, shielding his eyes from the already surprisingly hot gaze of Harran's unforgiving sun before shaking his head.

"You'd better be up there Bozak." He mumbled as he strained the run up the side of the rough surface and barely gripping the edge of one of the small rectangular shapes decorating the majority of the building.

Jump after jump, a few tedious movements, and some close calls later he finally made it to the open floor at the peak of the building. A form caught his gaze leaning against the railing, it had to be Bozak.

Honestly, he was expecting more, the man sat calm and relaxed in from of him, wearing a black and white painted mask, covering the tan features of his face, and a slim, deep red mohawk, that tinted a dark brown, from the front of his hairline to his neck. Crane almost squinted his face in confusion when he noticed his clothes. He adorned himself in an almost Rais like uniform, minus the three sun colored stripes painted across the legs and chest like most of them. Besides that, he looked like any other guy you might run into that's trying to survive in this horrid city. He was almost disappointed, but then again, what'd he expect?

"Bravo," the voice boomed in front of him, "the champion has arrived!" Crane almost jumped at the sound of the others voice ripping him from his thoughts while he was too busy taking in the others appearance. His voice was akin to the one he'd heard a countless amount of times on his radio. The doubt he had getting completely erased as soon as the moderately deep and lightly accented voice registered. He had heard it too many times to suspect it to not be him.

"You where the first to complete my challenges successfully, perhaps the last."

Crane raised a brow towards the other, "Was there a point to all this?"

"Of course," he began with an almost smart ass cock of his head, "I'm the point." he dared to add matter-of-factly with a smile behind his mask. "I came to Harran to hunt, and for three months, I've slaughtered every kind of infected that's crossed my path. Volitials, and spitters, and bitters... but I'm bored with all of them. So, I've been screening for a new playmate."

The runner gazed down at him while the other spoke his mind, standing straight to not lose the illusion of pure strength and fearlessness he's proposed to Bozak before an almost noticeable frown graced his lips at the last part of his sentence.

Seemingly catching the negative pull on Cranes lips the man continued at a faster pace, "Please don't give up too quickly, my last combatant wouldn't fight after I lopped off his arm. Too easy." He noted eagerly with a light chuckle in his voice.

Crane felt a smirk tug at his lips, "Yeah, don't worry Bozak. You're gonna get the fight you've earned." Internally he laughed, _'You mean the fight **I** earned, right?'_

Bozaks own smile might've shown if he hadn't had that mask but it in no way stopped his enthusiasm from shinning through, "That's the spirit!" He said practically glowing. "Now fight me!" He growled, excitedly jumping to his feat, a shining silver sickle in his right hand, prepared to cut through flesh.

Presuming a sizable fight from the other, Crane was expecting himself to use a nice chunk of his strength against his, so called, 'formidable' opponent. What actually happened was very unexpected, since he had thought of Bozak as a great fighter by his attitude and ego, it seemed he was quite the opposite. A shit talker you might say.

The very second Bozak swung his sickle at him, which he replied to with a swift dodge, Crane pulled out his 'big guns'. Those 'big guns' being his personal favorite, a great-sword. Using all the strength he could muster, he cut him down with a single angular sweep, coming up behind his own shoulder for maximum leverage and strength to bring it down upon the other man. Lord, did he not expect that, he cut him in half diagonally, from the top of the man's left shoulder to the bottom of the opposite side of his rib cage, right through his collar bone and diaphragm. It was a bloody mess, gore and guts spilling onto the polished tile of the the balcony, some spilling over the edge of the tower with the power of his swing, accompanied by the noise of blood spilling onto concrete, possibly in gallons.

The thought that Crane had just done that to the other made him the slightest bit queasy. He hadn't expected a fight to the death, thought it was measly a duel but that idea obviously went down the drain when the wet sound of organs splattering around the severed body reached his ears, the others intestines rolling out foot after foot. Crane shook his head with a firm expression, one almost resembling disgust when the body slumped to then ground completely empty, as he stared at the remnants of their 'little fight' Crane won effortlessly.

 _'How the hell did he have an ego that big?'_ He asked himself as he faced the edge of the tower not really wanting to continue gazing at his acquaintances halved body that had already begun to attract flies from the repulsive stench becoming known from the dry heat they were experiencing today. Finally he vaulted over the edge for the hundredth time to land on the lumpy blue trash bags piled into a heap. He glanced around in a haze, safely landing in the middle of the pile. He'd never get used to that shit, no matter how many times he did it.

Another thing he wasn't too sure about was why Bozak was kind of a pussy in that fight. Thinking of it like that, it almost made him chuckle. Such a big a mouth that guy had on him, all talk and no action apparently.

"Well, guess I better not dwell on it, got other shit to do anyway." He mumbled, setting his next destination to the tower.

  
—

  
It had only been a week later, two at the most, and Crane had been spotting the same damn poster in almost every one of his safe houses, including in the slums. Finally, he decided to have a look. He proceeded to the main tower in Old Town and when he made it to the top he walked straight into where Troy rested. Troy was definitely not expecting him, though he stormed in unnaturally fast, he didn't really seem to care much.

Crane looked straight at Troy after taking a second to glance around the room for said poster, "I keep seeing this poster someone's putting in my safe houses. Heard anything about it, Troy?"

Troy looked quizzically up to him, I mean he just busted in and started asking random shit, how else was she supposed to act? Then bells went off inside her head, "Actually, I have. I also just so happened upon this poster of yours just a bit ago."

"Yeah? Is it red with some kind of mask on it?"

The shorter of the two dismissed him by a wave of her hand and a nod, "Yeah, follow me."

They stepped out and balanced their way off the horizontally set door, made as a makeshift bridge and went a level down. This was where Crane usually kept his personal objects, weapons, and supplies he doesn't need at the moment. The two that occupied the room, looked to both of them, and greeted them with a nod and friendly wave.

Nailed to the thick column of dark wood, just above Kyle's bedroll and duffle bag, was the poster. The background a mixed medium of blood reds and as the main centerpiece, a mask. The mask looked white with only another off white color mixed in, with splotchy black marks covering the eye sockets, dripping down onto the porcelain looking cheeks. The texture of the night black markings looked as if someone patted paint all around the eyes with a sponge as it faded into grey. It gave him an almost eerie feeling by just looking it. Crane did not like it.

Crane glared into the hollow sockets of the mask that laid flat on the poster, "Do you know who even put it here?" He mumbled to Troy. "It's kinda freaky..."

She let a responsive 'hmm' out in acknowledgment that she heard him but was searching her thoughts for an answer. "Nope, it just showed up one day."

"It just showed up one day?" He quoted her, mildly confused.

"Yes Kyle, why're you so interested in it anyway?" She asked cocking her hip and crossing her arms up at him.

"Don't know, just wanna know I guess."

"Well, maybe you should do some good old fashioned research?"

A chuckle escaped his lips, "Right, I'll get right on that."

"Great, glad I could help, Kyle but I need to get back to some things of my own. Sorry to cut it short." Apologetically, she looked up to him and almost innocently, walked past giving a gentle pat on his forearm before brushing past.

She left Crane with his own thoughts, _'Maybe I am blowing this way out of proportion.'_ He let a soft groan escape and plopped down on his bedroll, roughly rubbing circles into his face, maybe for once in his life he could indulge himself in a nap. He never gets to do anything for _Crane_ now, he's always working himself for other people. He just needs, for only today, to sleep in. It would do wonders for his body and hopefully his peace of mind. If he's lucky.

  
—

  
Crane awoke frantically, looking around the small space he was stuck in. His head pounding and his body gave off a dull ache, he felt a light weight on his ankle when he attempted to move it. As he finally began to come to, Crane took in his surroundings. The modern design of the room, the chill in the air, and the posters. Laying his eyes upon one of them, he noticed it was the ones advertising for the Harran Stadium. He had to be in the stadium but how the fuck did he get here?

"Ah, the patient awakes." A sudden booming voice echoed throughout the small enclosed space. The voice was so deep, Crane almost found it enthralling. Such a voice Crane knew he could probably never forget.

Crane gazed around looking for the source but noting the tone of it, they were most likely speaking through some kind of microphone. Finding nothing he stared at the blank, snow white screen opposite him. Anger began to seep into his veins. Not knowing where he was taken to, was beginning to irritate him.

  
"He seems to have a problem with his leg..." The strange voice narrated jokingly.

Crane had winced in confusion before sparing a glance down to the weight upon his leg. _'What the fuck is that?'_

"Yes, take a good look. Isn't it a thing of beauty?" He drawled teasingly.

Alarmed, he darted his hands down to said contraption enclosed around his ankle, fingering the mechanic to see if there was any way to unlatch it. God, how the fuck did he get in a situation like this?

_'How the shit could my life get any better? Zombie apocalypse, almost get killed anywhere I go, lost my job, nearly fell off a 60 story building, and now I have a bomb strapped to my ankle. Fucking great.'_

To no avail of getting the bomb off, the other seemed to have noticed his frantic movements and began again, "Don't touch it!" He growled. "Or the bomb on your ankle will rip you to shreds." The other warned savagely. Just the sheer tone of the mystery mans voice ripped panic from inside him, almost making him jump at the volume it held.

Crane instantly pulled his hands away from said bomb and laid them back in their former position as something began flickering onto the big screen in front of him. It was him, he was looking at himself through a cameras view. It was the camera the man was watching him from. Crane's face twisted up in anger, how the fuck did this guy get him here? How the hell did he get him all the way into the stadium? There was an endless amount of questions that were probably not going to be answered. Considering the others possibly malicious intent with whatever he's going to do with him.

As he gazed at the tv, the voice began again, "That's right - we're always watching you."

Disbelief clouded his mind at the thought of this man watching him 24/7. How could he even accomplish such a task when he's nonstop dashing all over Harran? Thinking the shock of this realization couldn't get any worse, a man with the very same black charcoaled mask appeared across the screen. flickering between crystal clear and a hazy static.

Crane shot out of his thoughts at the man's surprisingly sensual voice, "You're in our game now." He said lightly. "A game of life and death."

"The rules are simple. You win or you die!" He finished cruelly.

The runners eyes widened at that. _'Are you fucking kidding me?'_ He groaned internally.

"Stand up!" The voice shot, expecting Crane to bow to his words.

How could Crane not? The very sound of his voice was intimidating, not even Rais had been able to intimidate him like this man could. Perhaps it was the fact that the runner knew not was about to happen or what he was about to be made to do. All he knew was that whatever it was, he had to excel at it, being that his only other option was death.


End file.
